


Sleepwalking

by fuckedupisperfect



Series: hey come back lost things [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: AU, Dead Like Me - Freeform, Gen, Language, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 08:32:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckedupisperfect/pseuds/fuckedupisperfect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glee/Dead Like Me AU. Vignettes and maybe a couple of things some kids in Ohio talk about when they're kind of dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleepwalking

**Author's Note:**

> This was not supposed to kick my butt. It kicked my butt. (Despite there being major character death and violence, it's not graphic at all.) Written for the Glee Gen Mini Bang 2012.
> 
> The rest of my work is only shown to registered users.

_What it was, wasn’t my fault_

_If I would have known, but,_

_Who could have known?_

_The cameras and the kids_

_The candids and the kindling_

_We’re fighting them all_

 

 

 

Tina forgets to go to school. Her alarm clock goes off but the desire to sleep is louder in her mind. With her head beneath her pillow and her arm stretching out from underneath her blankets, she presses the snooze button quickly to pull her arm back into her warm cocoon.

She regrets it later when she doesn’t manage to actually push the button and just sleeps through her entire morning. A wave of nausea hits her when she wakes up at 11 am, desperation coursing through her body at the realization that she’s late for school and will have to rush to get there so she will not miss her Geography class—the class she has a test in. She hurries to pull her clothes and boots on, forgetting to brush her hair and eat something. She figures she will worry about that later.

She runs as fast as she can on the sidewalk, all the while running her fingers through her hair and trying not to cry or panic, her backpack bouncing against her back and shoulders and basically being bothersome. When she stops at a crosswalk, a blonde woman waiting next to her speaks in a monotonous voice: “Pretty hair.” She touches it lightly as Tina looks at her with wary eyes. The woman drops her hand down onto Tina’s shoulder and slides it down her arm as if she likes feeling the fabric of her jacket. “You have a nice day.”

“Thanks,” Tina stutters.

The woman smiles at her and takes off in a different direction of the crosswalk. The light at the other side of the road turns into the crossing signal. Tina runs again and finally reaches the school parking lot. She checks her watch and smiles because she is going to make it to her class.

 

 

 

Noah Puckerman goes to school in the morning and decides to play hooky for the rest of the day. He makes an excuse to go to the nurse’s office, but when he gets there he doesn’t feel like sleeping. He escapes the building and dives into his car, thinking he will go to Breadstix and hope no one he knows sees him there.

He ends up driving out into a field far away from McKinley High School to stumble out of his car and throw up.

 

 

 

Tina does not know what is happening until she feels her head with her fingers and her hand comes away with sticky, red blood. Her hair is an even bigger disaster than it was when she emerged from her cocoon that morning.

Right now everything feels a lot worse, like a freight train had hit her. She lies on the ground and wraps her arms around her body protectively.

 

 

 

Tina stands next to her backpack. She bends down and tries to pick it up but it goes through her fingers. She tries again.

“You can’t pick it up,” the woman who complimented her before tells her in a light voice.

“Why not?” Tina asks, still fumbling with the straps of her backpack. She notices the backpack is broken and her papers, books, and makeup are scattered on the ground. (She doesn’t notice anything strange about the woman being next to her.) Her iPod is smashed into little pieces next to her hand.

Tina’s eyes widen.

“My hand…”

“Your entire body, T Cohen-Chang, is in front of you,” the woman says, walking up to her. “You’re dead.”

“Huh,” Tina says as she straightens up and looks over the scene. “Everyone thought I was going to OD one day, kill myself in the bathtub, or throw myself off a bridge. Though, I always thought my death would be a bit nicer than this. Like… not at school. I can’t believe I had to d-die here.” 

“That’s not nice?” the woman says. “Oh, and my name is Brittany. Brittany S. Pierce, not Britney Spears.” She smiles at Tina like there isn’t something ( _someone_ , Tina thinks with a wince) gruesome next to her. She holds out her hand but then takes it back, shaking her head a little but still smiling. “But you probably don’t want to know that since,” she continues, “you don’t care about who I am. You might care about what I am, considering dying and still being here must be confusing for you.”

“A little bit.”

“Come on,” Brittany says while pushing Tina away from the scene. “You have an appointment.”

“With death?”

“Nope, you already had one with death. He’s kind of annoying, so be glad that one’s over. You have an appointment to move on now.”

Tina can’t frown but she doesn’t smile either. Everything spins around her.

One minute she had been worrying about a test she hadn’t studied for, if her blue highlights in her hair matched her outfit, if her eye-shadow was too heavy, if she would have time to stop at a vending machine to grab a quick bite to eat, and if she had put on matching socks. That wouldn’t have even mattered since her boots covered them, but people think strange things when they’re panicking.

One minute she’s running to school and might have made it to class. The next minute, she’s dead.

Or possibly hallucinating.

“What do I do?” Tina asks. “I mean, how do I do that?”

“Only you know. It happens when you’re ready.”

“B-but…” Tina's face contorts as she starts to sob. “I wasn’t ready to die. I’m not ready to die.”

“This isn’t about dying, Tina,” Brittany says, her voice now soft and tender.

 

 

 

A gigantic beam of light shows up out of nowhere once the two of them walk inside the school. Tina wants to retrieve her diary from her locker because she doesn’t want anyone to read it, especially the police.

Brittany pushes Tina toward the white and blue lightshow.

“What are you doing?” Tina exclaims.

“Nothing. Walk in and do it yourself…” Brittany trails off.

She pushes Tina aside, looks at the light with a strangely sentimental expression on her face.

“Oh,” she says.

She walks into a manifestation of a giant movie screen of a house with beautiful music pouring from it. Two silhouettes kiss and hold hands and twirl around a giant cat stretched out, asleep, in front of a furnace lighting a tree with silver garland on it. Brittany reaches out first with her hand and then her whole body, walking right into the light. She looks back at Tina for a second and smiles at her. “Good luck.” As the light shines so bright Tina has to close her eyes, Brittany gives one last shout: “Send my best regards to San and—”

The light is gone when Tina opens her eyes. Brittany is gone with it, though Tina could have sworn she saw someone else’s hand grasp Brittany’s tightly just before she went.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Who killed me?” Tina said. She hid behind a tree next to a girl named Quinn, watching her own funeral. Quinn had told her it was fine if she got closer since no one could see her, at least not yet. Tina still hid.

“I don’t know, Tina,” Quinn said. She looked at her with sympathy behind her hardened expression. “You can’t go looking around for it. You can’t interact seriously and personally with the living anymore.”

“What if the guy who killed me is dead?” Tina said.

“Look, I know you’re upset—”

“I’m not upset… I’m d-distressed!”

“…Pay attention to your funeral. Not many people get to.”

“Lucky me,” Tina sighed. She narrowed her eyes. “Not many people are there.”

“It looks like a lot to me.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t know who knew me. The people that are there…” Tina stared blankly at the host of people dressed in black standing around her grave. Many of them were from her school, which means many of them did not even know her name before now. “They…” Tina shook her head. “I’d just rather not be here, right now. I want to go home.”

“I’m sorry, but you can’t. Isn’t it obvious?”

Tina suddenly turned to face Quinn and yell, “Quit telling me what to do!” She clenched her fist and stared at her with a deep frown. “I want to d-die again. Please, let me die again.”

“Just give it time. You can’t die right now. You have a job to do—all of us reapers have a job to do,” Quinn said, unfazed. “I’ve been doing this for a few years now. When you’re a reaper, you don’t die until you—”

Tina walked away from her and up to her grave where everyone had been shoveling dirt onto her. She looked past her mom crying into her aunt’s shoulder and her dad standing stoic. She kicked dirt into the hole because she could and couldn’t do it, then she sat down and cried as people walked through her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tina tried to ignore the other reapers she had to work with. There was another girl besides Quinn named Santana, who seemed very cynical but had her moments of sentimentality. She had long black hair that Tina envied, even though she herself had long black hair, as well. A man named Brad was in the group too, but he was hardly around. He really only showed up to get his reaps’ names then left as soon as the post it notes were in his hands. There was also a boy named Blaine. He drank with glee and shame, and annoyed everyone without really meaning to, upsetting Santana quite a bit. Quinn prayed before every meal. Santana gave Tina death glares.

Quinn was better at ignoring the reapers than Tina was. Blaine told her not to mess with Quinn since she “barks and bites”. Even Santana did not frequently snark at Quinn and she was the one in charge. Santana handed out the post it notes with names, dates, and addresses of people they needed to reap. (No one knew where the post it notes came from, or at least no one told Tina if they did know.)

Funnily enough, Quinn acted the nicest toward Tina. She paid for her food at the local diner they tended to go to for breakfast and dinner when Tina did not have much money with her. Tina thought the other reapers just might not know her that well, or maybe they knew her too well. She did not ask any of the reapers what was up with her since they were not too friendly at first, either. Tina didn’t know much about anyone, actually. There was no one to ask about them except for their regular waitress, but she remained tightlipped most of the time.

(Quinn had short, blonde hair that went down to the middle of her neck. She wore light makeup that accentuated her eyes, lips, and cheeks. It made her look youthful. Tina wasn’t sure just how old Quinn had to be, but no one ages after they die. Only their hair can grow.)

Everyone and everything intimidated her, so she stuttered. The stutter was not real, but then again, nothing about Tina’s life was real, either.

“If you can call it a life, when, you know, you’re not living,” Quinn said when Tina asked her what she thought about Tina going to the movies in her free time. Quinn dressed in one of her nicer outfits (a light yellow dress), while Tina dressed casually (grey blouse, black skirt, white stockings, pink highlights); both at Breadstix.

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t try to live like how you lived before with things you liked to do and such…” Quinn said as she pulled out her money to pay for her meal. “I just don’t think you should get that attached as you would have done before you were reaped.”

“You mean, before I died,” Tina said.

“No, reaped. We haven’t died yet.” Quinn put her blonde hair up into a ponytail. She imagined a crown on her head as she gazed into her pocket mirror. Her smile wasn’t visible. “Reapers don’t die.”

“But I wasn’t a reaper when I died.”

Quinn let out an exasperated sigh and shifted her gaze over to Tina. “Tina, I don’t care about terminology. Stop obsessing over this.”

“You don’t seem to care about anything,” Tina said as she sulked a bit.

“That is not true, but I don’t need to explain myself to you… or anyone,” Quinn said, standing up. “Now get out of my way.” Then, she added forced pleasantry, “ _Please_.”

 

 

 

It was only after Tina was sent to go with Santana to reap a family of two in a restaurant shooting that she found out Santana hated her for finishing Brittany’s quota. Apparently they were friends, which surprised Tina since Santana seemed like she hated everyone.

“I do hate everyone,” Santana once told Tina. “I just hate some people less than others.”

When Santana connected the name on her post it note to the girl she had to reap at the moment, she said “shit” with an anguished hiss. Tina touched a woman’s back by pretending to bump into her on her way to the bathroom. She waited in the bathroom until the gunshots, the screams, the cries of terror, and the police sirens and loud voices had ended. Santana sat at a booth in the corner of the restaurant, watching everything. When she saw Tina, she told her it gets easier to see death but it never stops you from feeling guilty about it.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a hormonal ass to you ever since you joined our hapless group of soul-stealing nitwits. It’s not your fault,” Santana mumbled when she and Tina walked back to their house, illuminated by the streetlights.

Tina was silent for a moment, and then said, “Brittany told me ‘good luck’ and to give her best regards to San before she left. I’m guessing she meant you.”

Santana smiled. “Really? That’s… That’s my girl.”

(Brittany died because she reaped her “last” person. Tina didn’t understand how it worked either, but taking her place didn’t mean she needed to. She just needed to do her job. And if that meant being Santana’s friend, Tina could try. New life after death, new way of living—and all that stuff taught in self-help books her mother used to read.)

Tina had a feeling Santana hated and liked everyone the same way, except when she really wanted to like someone. The insults became fond, and the glares became playful…except when she really wanted to hate someone.

Tina smiled at her diary once she wrote it down. Then she frowned because that all made a lot more sense in her head. She closed her diary and set it on her desk in her room—the smallest one in the house she shared with Santana and Blaine. She did not complain since Blaine slept on the couch for her. Tina wondered why Quinn and Brad didn’t live with them (or with each other) since Santana did. Santana was just as solitary and stoic as them, but she still let Blaine live with her.

Tina shrugged and figured it didn’t matter. She had a lot of time to find out how things worked in their group since, well, she was kind of dead and didn’t have much else to do with her time.

Tina put the post it notes she acquired that day underneath her bed, sticking it to the boards holding up her mattress. Santana got rid of hers and Tina had no idea what happened to Blaine’s.

While Tina did not necessarily like what she did, she couldn’t help but feel a little fascinated by it. So, she kept hers.

 

 

 

  

She had to find work to help keep food on the table four weeks after starting her first and foremost job of reaping. It had been hard since she had no identity, but she was somehow able to get a job by doing the odd job around neighborhoods that didn’t give her the creeps.

She sometimes reaped some of the souls of people she knew—or at least people she saw in high school. But she did not reap the soul of anyone in her family.

(Blaine reaped her dad and did not tell her. Tina respected and feared the rule of being a reaper and did not seek out her family, so she never found out.)

She reaped Matt Rutherford, a football player at McKinley.

He was studying in the library when she brushed her hand on the back of his shoulders. Ten minutes later, someone tripped and stumbled into a tall bookshelf. It fell down on Matt and crushed him immediately, heavy textbooks flying everywhere.

When he stood up next to Tina she took his hand and led him away to his lights.

She felt too guilty about it when Matt’s best friend, Michael Chang, showed an interest in her—a face that wasn’t hers—when she found herself walking aimlessly in the field away from McKinley. Michael went out there to dance alone when football practice was out. He used to dance with Matt, or he danced while Matt watched him. When Mike and Tina met she told him her name was Jeannie. Michael told her to call him Mike. They danced together, small figures in a limitless expanse, sometimes entwining and leaping away and sometimes not. A bit later, they kissed each other, and when they realized they were good at it, they kissed some more.

When Mike asked her if she wanted to go somewhere else, she left Jeannie behind and never came back for her.

 

 

(Reapers all looked different when they were tangible, visible, and reaping. Tina couldn’t go back to her old life, including what she used to look like. She didn’t trick people, at least not until it was Halloween.)

 

She managed to really befriend Santana in seven months. It was the first real friendship Tina had ever had. She stopped stuttering when Santana stopped making fun of her for it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 “Hey, do you think they had hair and make-up crew for the men back in the day?” Tina said. She and Santana were wrapped up in blankets, lying next to each on the floor as they watched an old black and white movie on their very small TV set in the living room.

“Yeah?” Santana said, her eyes glued to the screen yet she still looked disinterested. She then suddenly asked, “Do you think Brittany could have been in this movie? It’s old enough, right?”

“Um, this is Casablanca, and I didn’t really know Brittany…”

“Right, sorry. You just saw her go up to heaven and shit. I forgot Blaine wasn’t watching this with us. He’d know what I was talking about. But then again he would have fallen asleep before we got to this moment. Being gay doesn’t mean he actually likes these kinds of movies, strangely enough.”

“Blaine’s not here either.”

“I just said that?”

“No, I mean, he’s not here anymore. Remember? He left two days ago.”

“Oh, right. Right. I wonder how far he can go before something bad happens. He better get back here because I don’t want to keep doing his reaps for him. And he never cleaned the bathroom. Asshole left broken bottles in the toilet.”

Tina didn’t move a muscle for a while until Santana’s leg shifted underneath the blankets. “Hey,” she said. “How did you and Quinn die?”

Santana pursed her lips and her nostrils flared a bit, but Tina didn’t notice since the only source of light in the room was the TV screen and it was a dark scene on at the moment.

“I mean…” Tina started after Santana paused the movie and said nothing for two minutes. Which wasn’t strange for Santana, really, but the silence was starting to make Tina uncomfortable. “I know how Blaine died,” Tina continued.

“Blaine likes telling people to shock them all the time. He’s a moron that way. It’s because he’s a moron that he died. Who accidentally kills themselves by jumping on a broken table just to dance on it? Dumbass. Then he goes off and leaves me alone like Britt did just because he wanted—”

“You told me about Brad.”

“I thought you knew I was lying when I told you he died by mouthing off to a couple of angry trigger-happy cops. Can you imagine him talking? His beard would ask you to pass the salt before he’d try to himself. Which beard I’m talking about it? I’ll let you decide.”

“…And you know how I died. So, how did you die? Quinn, too. I doubt she’d tell me…”

Santana resumed the movie and shoved her blankets onto Tina. “I’m going to make popcorn.”

They didn’t talk for the rest of the night.

 

 

 

It was during one of her odd jobs (painting the fence of some rich lady that was too lazy to do it herself or hire someone that wasn’t knocking on doors to do it) that things got really odd.

Tina was standing in the backyard, a bit a ways from the outdoor pool, lawn chairs, and fire pit; so, she was among the hedges, having to crane her arm to reach the tips of the wooden fence with red paint. 

“Pool cleaning here, Mrs. Pete!”

Tina startled, lost her footing, and dropped her brush into a bush while falling backwards and managing to hit her paint can with one of her arms. “Ugh… what…” Tina groaned while opening her eyes and pulling her arm towards her body to cradle it with her other arm. A man was staring down at her, but it was hard to see his face with the too bright sunlight also bearing down on her.

“I’m…so sorry…” he said. He walked away from her without offering her a hand.

Tina sat up and looked around. There was pool-cleaning equipment strewn on the ground, some in the pool. The man had a Mohawk and a nice, tanned physique that she could see since he was shirtless. There was blood on him.

“Are you okay?” she said. Then she looked down at herself. “Oh, never mind. Am I alright?” She sighed as she ran a hand down the front of her shirt. It used to be one of her better outfits. Red was hard to get out of anything, much less paint.

“You can’t…” he whispered. He kept backing away from her.

“What is your problem? I just fell. I’m painting Mrs. Pete’s fence. I’m not a burglar if that’s what you’re worried about…” She looked at him for more than a glance.  _Oh, he’s a boy from school._ A boy that used to throw slushies in her face.

“But look what you did!” she said in a harsher tone, her demeanor switching from dazed and confused to wanting to make the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “You made me fall, you jerk. Now clean up this mess before I tell Mrs. Pete about your incompetence, even though you’re just a measly pool boy.”

She wasn’t very good at it.

(“Shut up, Tina,” Santana had told her once. “I’m giving out the post it notes, so whatever I say goes. Stop your whining and leave the bitching to me. You’re not good at being angry; I just can’t take you seriously, _seriously_.”)

He shook his head and put a hand up. “This is a sign from God isn’t it? I am being punished for killing you. He’s sent your ghost to stop me from being a sex shark.”

“What are you talking about?” She fully stood up swept her hands up and down her shirt again, like that would make the paint peel off.

He shook his head again, but in a way to shake him out of something. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else for a second there.” 

“Yeah, someone you killed. This still doesn’t sound good for you.” Tina crossed her arms and glared at him.

“Okay, okay, fine. I’ll do your job, how about that? I just need to paint the fence, right? Then you don’t tell anyone what happened here.”

Tina nodded. “And you’re buying me a new shirt.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The only times they all came together after they came apart was when they sat around the old piano.

(It was located west of Breadstix, south of Tina’s old house, and east of Quinn’s new house. It was located just near where Tina had died.)

Brad’s odd job after becoming a reaper was being the janitor of Tina’s old high school. It was not a high school anymore, however. Two years after Tina died, a toilet seat flew out of space and destroyed most of it. It was rebuilt into a health clinic. One part of the school that wasn’t hit was an old choir room. No one wanted to take down what remained of the school for memories’ sake (except for a few port-a-potties that escaped damage), so the room stayed, even if it was just for storage and darkness. Tina had never stepped foot in it when she still went to McKinley, but Quinn remembered it. She put her hands on the wall and rubbed the fuzzy material when she thought no one was looking.

Brad played the piano while Quinn, Tina, and Blaine softly sang along to the tune. The first time, Santana wondered out loud why they were there at all, but after listening to them for a few minutes, she joined in. The room was crowded with boxes covered in dust, but there was still enough room to move around or stand or sit once they pushed the boxes to the back of the room and pulled some chairs out. Blaine tried standing on one of the chairs once and then tried climbing onto the piano too but Quinn just stared at him until he got down.

When the noise level went a bit too loud, Quinn hushed everyone.

“Oh, come on, Q,” Santana said. “There’s no point in us being here if you’re going to tell us to settle down.”

“I just want us to have a bit of order. We’re not supposed to be here, so we could get caught and what would happen to our reaps then?” Quinn said.

“Don’t bring those up,” Blaine said. “Let’s just sing.”

“What Sockless said. Plus, I’m the one in charge, not you. Hit it, Brad,” Santana said with a flourish of her hand. Brad leveled a stare at her without changing his usual blank facial expression before looking down at the piano keys and playing a song that was vaguely familiar to all of them.

“Oh, I love this song,” Tina said.

“That’s great and all, but you need to sing it in order for us to hear it,” Santana said.

“Uh, okay,” Tina said, sitting down on a box that was high enough for her to kick her legs in the air a little. “You with the sad eyes, don’t be discouraged, oh, I realize…”

“It’s hard to take courage in a world full of people, you can lose sight of it all,” Blaine sang along with Tina, grinning at her.

Santana laid her head on Quinn’s shoulder until she joined in: “And the darkness inside of you can make you feel so small.”

They all began singing with each other, but Santana, Quinn, and Blaine started just doing background singing when Tina sang in earnest. She closed her eyes and stopped kicking the air with her legs, keeping her hands in her lap as she sang.

When she sang the final note, Brad started clapping, getting the others to clap with him as they all looked at Tina and smiled.

She blushed and looked down at her hands, but she was smiling too.

 

 

* * *

 

  

 

“What the hell was that?” Tina yelled as she approached Santana inside Breadstix. She was reading the menu with Quinn on the other end of the booth (already eating pancakes).

“What are you on about, Tits and Bits—Jeez, what happened to you?” Santana said as she looked up from her menu. She grimaced at the red paint all over Tina’s shirt. “Why you gotta abuse that poor color with your fashion choices, T?”

“Don’t even start on me right now, Santana.” Tina pushed into the seat next to Quinn, making her spout indignant murmurs as she moved her plate and body away from her.

“How could someone I know recognize me?” Tina asked. “I thought we all looked different? Quinn even said I got prettier!”

“That is not true. I said you got sluttier. There’s a big difference,” Quinn said.

Tina gaped at her, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks and, actually, every part of her face was on fire at that moment. “What?”

Quinn smiled sweetly at her. “Don’t think I don’t know about your little _trysts_.”

“Your what?” Santana exclaimed. “You were fucking someone? And you didn’t _tell me_? What the fuck, Tina!”

“Language,” Quinn said.

“Oh, shut up. You just called Tina a slut, fake feminist Fabray. Don’t think I don’t know what happened to get you where you are, but the difference is that even if I have hardly any tact I  _do_ have enough experience as a reaper to know not to air out everyone’s dirty laundry just like that,” Santana said, getting up in Quinn’s face. “Tina, sit down. Quinn, take a seat. Everyone good now?”

Tina hadn’t even realized she was standing.

“You’re the one who got all excited, so don’t blame this mess on me,” Quinn said, delicately raising an eyebrow and glaring at Santana. “If we get kicked out for language and yelling, it’s you, not me, that does that.”

“Oh yeah, because pretty little innocent Patricia still prays before she eats. Such a virgin snowflake. Give me a fucking break.”

Tina coughed. “Guys,” she said. “It was me that was supposed to be arguing and yelling at you… Why can’t I have the spotlight just once?”

“Well, go ahead. Yell at us. No one’s stopping you,” Quinn said.

“Yeah, jump right in,” Santana said while sweeping her arm in the air. 

“Well…” Tina started. “Some jerk I knew from high school bumped into me while I was working. He seemed kind of wary of me. I mean, I think he thinks he recognizes me and… maybe he killed me.”

Santana whistled. “Damn. Well, that’s not good.”

“What’s his name?” Quinn asked.

“I think his name was Puck. He was popular because he bragged about having sex in the bathroom and for locking kids in port-a-potties.”

“You had port-a-potties at your school? Nice.”

“I knew him, too, for a time,” Quinn murmured. She shoved her plate even farther to the side of the table. “He  _was_ a real jerk.”

Santana frowned. “Quinn…”

“Don’t. It’s me airing out my so-called dirty laundry, so it’s okay.” Quinn sighed. “I guess it was about time you knew how I died, Tina.”

“It’s none of my business,” Tina said quickly but Quinn still cut her off with a wave of her hand.

“Come on, we both know you’ve been curious.”

Tina didn’t argue with that.

  

 

* * *

 

 

“You don’t actually look like her,” Puck said as Tina sat down next to him on the curb.

“Really? I hadn’t guessed,” Tina said.

They were sitting in front of a park. It was quiet even though a few families settled down there with picnic blankets and kids. The sky was cloudy, but in between the clouds there were patches of blue sky.

Puck leaned back, palms gripping the sidewalk. “I just… I’ve just been freaked out ever since, you know? It’s already been five years but the blood all over you kind of made me sick. And you’re a girl. So.”

“Me being a girl _definitely_ narrows it down. It was paint, though.” She nudged a rock with her foot absently, looking away from him. He had never looked at her at all.

“I know that now! I’m not that stupid that I’d paint a fence with blood. That’s completely Jack the Ripper shit!”

“Wait, there’s a difference between you two?”

Puck heaved an exhausted sigh. “It was an accident, okay? I didn’t mean to kill her!”

“But you did.”

He said nothing as he clawed at his hair with frustration. He stood up; his hands still near his head. “I’m just a piece of shit that messes up, alright? These things happen to me!” he said.

“It didn’t happen to you, it happened to her,” Tina said with thinly contained anger. “Quit feeling sorry for yourself. Just because I’m the first stranger you told doesn’t mean I’m going to give you sympathy. I’m just not giving you to the police.”

Puck snorted and looked down at Tina. “Like you have enough evidence for me to go to jail. You don’t even know who I  _accidentally_ killed.” He jerked around to stare at her. “You don’t have a tape recorder on you, right?”

Tina wanted to punch him, but she deflated instead. When he stared at her, he saw nothing. No one. When Tina stared at herself in the mirror and brushed her hair, she also saw no one.

“No, of course not. I’m just a teenager,” Tina said softly. “You’re safe.”

“Great, now you’re making me feel guilty,” he muttered as he sat back down but farther away from Tina.

Tina looked at him with wet eyes. “How should you be feeling?”

“I can’t feel anything about it anymore,” he said, his hands open in front of him. “If I slip up, it’s over for me. I—” He looked at her for a second, then looked ahead at the children playing on the swings. “You’re just a stranger. I won’t ever see you again so I can tell you without worrying about it.”

Tina gestured for him to go on.

“I have a kid. All my money goes to her. I don’t actually know what she looks like or gotten a thank you from her mom in a long time, but I send my money to her mom’s address. It’s the only thing that keeps me going. I can’t go to jail.” 

“What if you mess up again?”

“I won’t. I can’t go to jail.”

“But—”

“Look, what’s-your-name—” he started.

“It’s Mimi,” Tina said, lightning-fast.

“Okay, whatever. If you haven’t noticed, _Mimi_ , my life is more important now. I can’t waste it on someone who’s dead while my baby girl is still alive and needs me.”

Tina’s mouth set in a thin line as she stared at her shoes. _Is he making sense? Is my death really supposed to be swept under the rug?_ she thought, forcing herself not to cry. She wrung her hands tightly. “You used to throw red slushies at me. Red’s a bitch to get out of clothes. You threw them at me _every day_ , and you didn’t even know who I was. I was really sad, but against my better judgment I didn’t hate you for it.”

Puck looked at her, still seeing nothing familiar. But he said what he should have said a long time ago, anyway: “I’m sorry.”

Tina ignored him. “I can tell you that without worrying about it. I didn’t think someone like you could care about anyone. But you’re a stranger to me, too.”

Puck nodded. “I do care; don’t worry. We all have to… not worry.”

Tina kicked his foot lightly. “Wow, that was so profound. Don’t tell me you’re seriously going to start preaching to me?”

“No way. I just… I regret waking up the morning I ruined that girl’s life every damn day, but I can’t let that regret hold me down, man. I got to keep going, for Beth’s sake. She needs me more than I need a dead girl’s forgiveness.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After three months of being a reaper, Tina stopped feeling fascinated by death and started feeling perturbed by it.

She felt depressed about it in five months.

She cried about it every night.

(Santana pretended not to hear her.)

Death and how it worked used to seem like such a big mystery to her until she died and started making other people die too. She drained the life out of people—their hopes, their dreams. And she did it all without getting anything in return or getting to feel bad about it because that was just her existence now. She didn’t choose it, but she was essentially a killer.

That was fucked up.

But she still couldn’t figure everything out. She killed people, yes, but she wasn’t the one pulling the strings. She didn’t make the choice to end their lives, someone (or something) else did.

Six years later, she just felt annoyed by it. Santana told her that’s how it happens to everyone. You just get used to it.

Tina couldn’t stop crying, though.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I used to be a cheerleader,” Quinn said. She, Santana, and Tina had ordered lemonade while Quinn made sense of what she was going to say in her head out loud. She held her glass in her hand but hadn’t taken a sip. “That doesn’t mean anything now, but it meant a lot to me when I was little. It… I had dreams of getting out of here. But they were just dreams. Stupid, silly dreams.”

“Can’t you still get out of here?” Tina said.

“Shh, don’t interrupt,” Santana said with her voice muffled, her head face down in her arms.

“Tina, are you serious?” Quinn asked. “Blaine’s trying to run away right now, but do you really think he can? We’re stuck here, forced to rot on this earth until we can’t read another post it note because our eyes are so worn out, wet, and tired. We’re never getting out of here. If you have a bad life, dying is supposed to bring you some sort of peace. I pray to God every day and every night to bring me peace but still he ignores me.”

Tina placed a hand on Quinn’s shoulder.

Quinn wiped away a tear and Tina’s hand. “Stop it. It’s because I’m selfish. I wanted to hurt my parents like they hurt me. But all I did was hurt myself in the long run. It’s so stupid. Who ever thinks of something like that backfiring like… _this_.” She gestured to her face. “I look in the mirror and I can still see me, but there are only traces of me left.” Whoever she was. She shook her head. “I loved myself, but I wanted part of who I was to die. It’s so horrible that we look different to everyone else but still look the same to ourselves when there is no doubt about it that when we were reaped we were made to be different.”

“What do you mean?” Tina said.

“Just listen.” Quinn took in a deep breath in between her silent sobs. “My name’s not really Quinn. Or Patricia, obviously. Just like yours is not Jeannie. I was born Lucy Q. Fabray. Or Lucy Caboosey as kids used to call me. Horrible kids that I would become. I… had surgery to make myself better. Prettier.”

Quinn looked at Tina and put a hand on her face, letting it slip down to her shoulder. “You were pretty before, Tina. I’m sorry about what I said.”

“I’m sensing something gay is happening,” Santana mumbled.

“Shut up,” Quinn said with a watery laugh, drawing her hand away from Tina and to the table. “After I took up the name Quinn, my middle name, I was noticed, but for good reasons. I became head cheerleader, I was asked out by boys who weren’t trying to pinch me to see if I had the ability to cry, and I was able to get better grades because of my new self-confidence and motivation. I was great and I was going to do great things, and all because I was pretty. I even got into Yale!”

“Did you ever go?” Tina asked.

“No. I…” Quinn trailed off.

Puck had walked in.

“I’ll tell you the rest later,” Quinn said. Tina frowned, looking down, but Quinn smiled at her and tapped the table with her fingers. “I will still tell you, okay? I’m not lying.”

“Yeah, don’t worry your pretty little head, T,” Santana said, her head finally coming up from her arms. “Once Quinn gets going, she won’t stop. Trust me.” 

“No, I’m pretty sure you’re the one lying now,” Quinn said. 

“Whatever. Let’s go find our piano man and scoot. I wants to get my rapping on.”

“Ugh, Santana, nobody wants that, honestly.”

“Fuck you, Quinn.” 

“She wishes,” Tina said to Quinn. 

“Fuck you, too, T.” 

Tina smiled hard, looking at her fingers adorned in blue nail polish. “I love you guys,” she whispered, no one hearing her. 

Santana was laughing while Quinn drank her lemonade.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They were given new faces, and maybe a new life if they really wanted it.

Santana felt hunger, longing, bitterness, and no relief.

Quinn couldn’t finish her story no matter how many times she started telling it.

Blaine ran and ran, not knowing what he could run towards.

Brad didn’t exist.

Tina drowned in her own head sometimes.

They lost count of the days and birthday cakes and the questions. They had no friends, no family, and no aspirations.

But they could sing.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Quinn sipped from her cup of tea. She looked up from her table at Breadstix at the small TV hanging in the corner of the restaurant. News flash: another car crash. Another two broken bodies on the road.

“Pity,” she mumbled as she lifted her cup to her mouth to drink some more.

 

 

* * *

 

“Santana, let’s go,” Tina whined.

“I’m coming, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Santana yelled from behind the closed door of the bathroom. “I’m almost done. Just need to adds my earrings.”

“By the time you’re done, I’ll be dead! Hurry up!” Tina yelled back, fist up and about to pound against the bathroom door.

“You’re already dead, oh my god.”

“Just hurry, please. If we don’t get our reaps, the whole world will be in jeopardy.”

“If you hadn’t noticed, nothing has happened since Blaine ditched his reaps. Calm down.”

“If you really think nothing happens when we defy death, then why are we still doing this, huh?”

“No comment,” Santana said as she _finally_ stepped out wearing a slinky red dress and pearl earrings. “How do I look, Tits and—”

“Call me that one more time and I will end you.”

“Okay, jeez. Somebody pissed in someone’s cereal—” Santana got cut off by Tina pushing her by the shoulders.

“Come on!” she said.

“Okay, going!” Santana said, bending down to grab her heels and managing to not fall over by Tina’s overeager pushing.

Santana got into the driver’s seat after Tina shouted “shotgun!” which Santana found ridiculous since Tina didn’t even have a driver’s license. Well, Santana didn’t have one either, a real one, of course. She had her old one, but she couldn’t use that unless she wanted scientists to prod her body and cut her open to find out how she was still alive and with the face of someone else who was probably dead too.

“Okay, my post it note says 145 East 2nd, E.T.D 9:00 PM,” Tina said as Santana drove, eyes focused on the road and on the mirror to apply her lipstick. “So, we should be able to get there just in time.”

“I hope this one doesn’t die messy because this dress didn’t come cheap.”

“That would be your fault, though.”

“Shut up. Just because I’m supposed to be reaping people with horrible and often gory deaths doesn’t mean I can look like shit while doing it.”

“Duly noted,” Tina said while adjusting the straps to her black dress. “I look hot, too.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“Hey now, eyes on the road.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Quinn looked at her post it note. _A. Abrams. Seaside Park. E.T.D. 9:02 PM._

“What a horrible name for a park in Ohio,” Quinn said as she sat on a bench and waited in the dim light of the evening.

“You’re telling me,” a boy with glasses rolled up to her in a wheelchair. “Hey, do you know the directions to Lima High’s gym?”

“Does it look like I’d know?” Quinn said.

“Well, you’re kind of dressed up so I just assumed you were heading to prom too,” the boy said sheepishly. “But, sorry, I’ll just go now.”

“No, wait,” Quinn said. “What’s your name?”

“Artie,” he said. “And I really have to get going. I was going to meet my date here but she just texted me that she got a ride and didn’t want to walk with me anymore.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Quinn said.

“What, really? Cool, as long as you’re not a serial killer or anything,” he said teasingly.

“No, that would be absurd,” Quinn said with a smirk. “There’s a boy in a suit over there, let’s ask him for directions.”

“Awesome,” Artie said. “Oh yeah, what’s your name?”

“Patricia.”

“Huh, you don’t look like a Patricia.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Quinn waved at the boy in a black, simple suit. He was leaning against the wall to a store with a lit up sign. “Hey, are you going to Lima High’s prom?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said. He gestured to his tie and the box he held in his hand. “I guess it’s kind of obvious, huh?”

“Not really,” Artie said. “Just guessing. So, you know the way there?”

“Oh, no, I’m waiting for my brother to pick me up. He should have been here a while ago, actually,” he said with a bit of worry in his voice. “My girlfriend is going to be so pissed off if I stand her up.”

“Shouldn’t dates arrive together in a limo and not at a park or a store?” Quinn said. “When I went to prom my date arrived at my house to pick me up. What’s wrong with you?”

The boy shrugged. “Rachel wanted to try something new with a couple of her friends. Something about being on a budget or something. That’s why we didn’t get a limo.”

“You still could have arrived together in the car your brother was going to pick you up in,” Quinn said, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I think he would have gotten mad if we spilled our fake caviar in his car,” the boy said. “Anyway, I’m going to call him. I hope you guys get directions.” He stuffed his corsage box under his armpit and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“Well, that was a bust,” Artie said. “What now, Patty? …Pat?”

“Hmm? Oh. Just call me Patricia. Why don’t you call your date for directions?”

“I already did,” he said with a sigh. “But I think you’re getting annoyed by me, so I’ll just stick with this guy that also doesn’t look like a serial killer and call her again.” He smiled at Quinn. “Thanks for sticking with me for a bit, Patricia. You’ll probably have a better night than me since you’re not going to some lame prom, right?” He stuck his fist out towards Quinn.

Quinn smiled and fist-bumped him, then opened her hand to cover his fist with the palm of her hand, pulling away from his hand and making a fist again slowly. He looked at her strangely but said nothing.

“I will,” she said. “Have a good prom.” She checked her watch. 9:00 PM. “I better get going. Goodnight.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Santana and Tina arrived, leaving the car in the side parking lot of the school.

“Wow, this looks a lot better than my high school gym looked,” Tina said as they walked inside. The gym was lit with red, purple, orange, and blue lights, and kids were dancing at a fast speed. Music blared from all corners, making it hard to hear each other.

“Want to go get some punch?” Santana yelled.

“No, let’s just find our people and leave,” Tina said.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Santana said, holding one of her post it notes to any light she could catch in the air. _E.T.D. 8:45 PM_. “How are we supposed to find them? Does anyone just say their name out loud in some stupid school dance for reapers to kill them?”

“I’m Sugar Motta and this is the best prom ever!” a girl with a snazzy cheetah print parka and red dress yelled as she ran past Tina and Santana. She jumped on top of an empty table and started dancing. She held a microphone to her mouth and bleated, “If anyone sees my BOYFRIEND, ARTIE ABRAMS, please come to this table and tell me! He’s short and lightly muscled! Thanks, I love you guys. Mazel tov, Lima High!” She blew a kiss, dropped the microphone on some poor sophomore’s foot, and started doing the worm on the table.

“That one yours?” Santana said. “I don’t have an S.”

“Nope,” Tina replied.

“Dammit,” Santana said.

“I have an idea!” Tina said and ran to the table where Sugar was and grabbed the microphone on the floor. She poked it a few times to test it and then spoke into it, “Hey, is there anyone here named K. Hummel?”

Some girls stopped dancing to look over at Tina but everyone else kept on keeping on.

Santana ran up to Tina and grabbed the microphone from her. “Also, I’m looking for a J. Hart! Call me!”

Sugar grabbed the microphone from Santana and yelled into it right in her face. “Sing with me! WHOO!”

“Get out of my face, drunkie,” Santana said, pushing her away and covering her ears. “I’ve had enough with teenagers for one day, Tina. Let’s get out of here.”

“But what about our rea—”

“We’ll find them some other way. Come on!” she pushed Tina’s shoulders towards the exit.

“No, wait! Maybe one of them will come to the punch bowl,” Tina yelled. She turned around to stop Santana and noticed the clock on the wall up high and behind Santana. “Oh no, it’s already 8:40. We’re running out of time.”

“Okay,” Santana said. “I’m getting punch.” She walked over to a long table with party food and a giant punch bowl. Tina groaned in frustration and followed her.

A boy with dreadlocks tapped on her shoulder. “Hey,” he said with a smile. “I heard you needed me? Do you want to join The God Squad?”

“Oh, you’re J. Hart?” Santana extended her arm out to shake his hand. “I’m—what the hell,” she said, pretending to trip and grabbing his shoulders for balance. “Sorry, heels, you know.” She moved one of her hands down his arm and the other down where his tie was. “Nice tie, kid.”

“Thanks, it’s my friend’s dead aunt’s,” he said, still smiling. “Do you want to join the Interfaith Paintball League?”

Tina stared at him in disbelief.

“Oh yeah, that sounds so cool. Is your friend in that club too? Does he got a name, Dreads?” Santana said while moving away from him. “Hey, pour me a drink while you’re at it.”

“Of course,” he said as he grabbed a cup from the table. “And no, he’s only in the drama club.” He handed Santana her cup and toasted it with his own. “His name’s Kurt.” He started to drink his punch.

Santana smirked over his shoulder to Tina and raised her eyebrows at her. She looked back at J. Hart. “Really? Can you point him out? Do you happen to know his last name too? I’m taking a survey.”

“Yeah, hold up,” he said. He gulped down his drink. He was pointing his finger at a boy in a kilt, when all of a sudden, he started choking, dropping his cup and falling down to his knees. He held his throat with his hands, jerking around frantically. He then looked up at Santana, his eyes pleading.

“Oh my god! Teen Jesus is down! Somebody help him!” Sugar screeched into her microphone and leaped from her table. She landed on the ground with a crack; face to the ceiling and back to the floor.

Tina frowned. She glanced at Santana and they both told each other with their eyes that _that wasn’t supposed to happen_.

They looked back down where J. Hart was lying on the ground. A boy with blonde hair swept to the side was kneeling on the ground next to him trying to perform CPR on him. A couple of people were crying and a small crowd began to surround the scene. Kids almost tripped over Sugar’s body as they got there.

Tina looked at the clock. 8:46. _I can still make it._

Then Santana saw Sugar and J. Hart walk up to each other as more kids walked through them. Sugar’s jaw had dropped as she stared at her body and J. Hart just looked so confused.

“Are we in limbo? Because the next step has to be heaven,” J. Hart said.

“Yes, and then the step after that is nirvana,” Santana said to him. She tugged on one of his dreadlocks, beckoning him towards her as she walked out of the gym. “I’ll get you out of here.”

“And into heaven, right?” he said, the rest of his speech trailing off as they disappeared from the prom.

“What about me?” Sugar said, her hands and hair everywhere as she flailed. “I’m freaking out so hard I’m going to pass out!”

“It’s okay,” Tina said. “I’m not sure why you died, but—”

“No, Tina, it’s fine,” a familiar voice said from behind her. “She’s mine.”

Tina whirled around and gasped. “Blaine? You’re back?”

He smiled and held out his arms. “Yep!”

“Wait, you’re not sure why I’m dead? Why did I die? AM I DEAD? I don’t understand!” Sugar ran into Tina’s arms. “Help me, please.”

“Um, go to him,” Tina said as she passed Sugar to Blaine. “He’ll tell you how this works. Stop freaking out about it, okay? It’ll all be over soon.” _If you don’t end up like me._

“Tina…” Blaine said. His mouth opened again like he wanted to say something else but he closed it.

Sugar started crying into her hands. “I don’t understand,” she babbled. “I don’t understand.”

“Just take her, Blaine. We’ll talk later,” Tina said. She looked back at the clock. 8:50. Ten more minutes left.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Quinn was sitting on the bench at Seaside Park. It was too dark for her to really see anything, but her eyes had adjusted to the darkness two minutes ago. Not that it mattered since she closed her eyes one minute ago.

She heard it: the sound of someone dying, tires screeching, a yell, something breaking. The sound of something as small as a human being being torn apart and left on the pavement always lingered in her mind. This one was fresh.

Artie was sitting next to her on the bench when she opened her eyes.

“I’m dead, aren’t I?” he said slowly, blinking at her.

“Yes,” she said.

“Are you dead too?” he asked.

“Maybe,” she replied.

“So… what now?”

“It’s time to go, so you go on.” She stood up. “Are you coming?”

“Um, one problem,” Artie said. He pointed at his legs. “I’m still supposed to be in a wheelchair.”

Quinn picked him up, grunting a bit under the strain of his weight on her arms. “No problem. Put your arms around my neck.”

They walked around the park for a while. Artie asked her questions and Quinn told him answers, some right and some that weren’t true. Night had fallen. The trees were silent.

Quinn placed Artie on the grass. They both lay there, waiting.

“When does it happen?” Artie said.

“Dying or going away?” Quinn said. Before Artie could answer, she continued, “It takes a little bit of time for you. Don’t think so hard about it. It will come to you in a flash of light… and then you’re already there.”

The darkness faded as a brilliant light showed up in front of them, painting a part of the sky a shimmering light blue and green.

“Cool,” Artie said. He got up from the ground and shook his tuxedo pants to get rid of the few blades of grass that stuck to them. “Well, it was nice talking to you, Quinn. Do you think you can tell my parents I love them, or is that not allowed?”

“I can’t. I’m sure they still know you do, nonetheless.” _Not like mine did._

He was gone, she was left alone, and the world had returned to normal once again.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Tina followed a boy out of the gym and into the front parking lot after Blaine left with Sugar. She knew she couldn’t get this one wrong since he seemed to be the only kid who had worn a kilt.

8:52. _I can make it._

“Hey,” Tina said as she approached the boy ( _Kurt_ , J. Hart had said. _K. Hummel_ , her post it note said). It was dark, but the lights and the music blaring from the gym made her feel safe. And, well, she was the one killing people so she had nothing to be afraid of at the moment.

“I wonder when they’re going to shut off the music,” Kurt said, turning his red-rimmed eyes toward her. “I saw several people call 911, at least I’m assuming that’s what they were doing with their phones out, but I wouldn’t put it past these people to just take pictures. The paramedics should be here by now. They can save Joe, but it’ll be easier to wade through the panic if the music’s off.”

“It’ll be fine,” Tina said, putting her hand on his shoulder. She moved it down to his hand and squeezed it with her own. “He’s doing fine now.”

“I didn’t even really know him that well,” he said. “But I gave him a makeover once, and you don’t get one of those from me and _not_ be friends with me in at least the simplest terms of the word.” He pulled his hand away from her, pulled out his handkerchief, and used it to wipe at his face. “Who are you, anyway?”

“I… I got to go now. I’m sorry this had to happen to you. Night,” Tina said. She turned around and walked quickly, hoping he wouldn’t go back to the gym to die there. Two deaths in a school were enough to shatter it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Blaine? _Puta_!” Santana said when she caught sight of him. She punched him in the shoulder hard enough to bruise. “You forgot to take out the trash the day you left, you asshole!”

“Ouch, you really need to soften your blows, Santana,” Blaine said, rubbing at his arm. “Where’s Tina and Quinn? Is Brad still around?”

“Of course, he’s still around. He doesn’t just drop off the face of the earth like some people I know.” She punched him again, but lighter. “Quinn’s still around, too. And I’m not leaving without Tina; I’m her ride.” She leaned back on her car and yawned.

“Yeah, I saw her, I was just wondering what’s taking her so long,” Blaine said.

“She’ll come, she just needs to get her reaping on first. She always finishes the job.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Tina approached the scene. The black car was upside down; the wheels still turning and the hood crushed in. “Kurt?” she said. “You around here?”

“You know my name?” he said. Tina found him sitting beside the car, pushing his hand through the cracked window of the driver’s seat. “My phone’s in there. I need to call my dad.”

“You can’t call him. You’re dead,” she said, crouching down to his level.

This was always the hardest part for her. Killing them was so easy; it was nerve-wracking to find them, but walking away when they were about to die wasn’t difficult to do. But the aftermath?

“I’m sorry,” she said. He was still staring at his phone in the car. She couldn’t see it herself but she bet it was broken as well. “We have to go, come on.”

He shook his head dazedly, his eyes still not moving.

“I can sing you a song? I sometimes do that. Either it makes them want to leave because they want to stop listening to me because I’m terrible or it calms them.”

No laughter, no inquisition. She sighed. This was going to be a difficult one.

“Okay, here it goes,” she said brightly as she crawled over to him. “Little child, be not afraid. Though the rain pounds against the glass like an unwanted stranger, there is no danger. I am here tonight…”

When she got to the middle of the song, he hummed along with her, and when it finished, he finally looked at her. “Come on,” she said. She held out her hand. “There’s nothing left for you here.”

_No more tears, Tina. Come on. It’s just death. It’s not scary. It’s just letting go._

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Quinn sat up when she saw another flash of light in the distance. _Probably Santana’s or Tina’s reap._ She got on her feet and walked towards it.

When she saw a familiar figure moving towards the light in a way that made her heart skip a beat, she started running.

“Tina!” she screamed. “Tina! Wait!” She was already hiccupping as she ran, her voice jumping as her legs moved. “No! _Tina_!”

When she got there, Tina and the light were gone. Quinn’s hair was falling over her face as she pressed her palms to the gravel. She bit her lip, trying not to cry.

“Where did she go?” a boy asked. He moved to sit next to her, his kilt getting more dirt on it.

“It doesn’t matter. She’s just gone,” Quinn said.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Before Quinn could settle Kurt into Tina’s room for his stay as the new replacement reaper, she moved her stuff into boxes. Santana had decided they would put Tina’s old things in the choir room so whenever they sang she would still be kind of there, listening to them.

Quinn thought Santana was slowly becoming unhinged but she said nothing and just nodded.

(Santana had a small breakdown that involved throwing things—some at Blaine and Kurt but thankfully she missed them most of the time; she nicked Blaine in the shoulder with a glass elephant Brittany had gotten her once—and drowning herself in a basket of breadsticks. Quinn had eaten all the ice cream.

Blaine left again after pieces of the elephant scattered on the ground. Quinn thought he’d be back, but it wouldn’t be sometime soon.

Brad stilled when they all got together at the piano (Brad, Quinn, Santana, Kurt) and Tina wasn’t there, but otherwise, he played as usual. No one sang that first time Kurt was there, though. They just dumped Tina’s boxes there and Quinn laid her forehead on the wall for a moment.)

When Quinn looked underneath Tina’s bed to grab anything there that looked like Tina had owned or liked it, her eyes widened at the sight of at least a hundred yellow post it notes taped to the bottom of her mattress boards. She flipped the bed over after three tries and started ripping off the notes, depositing them in a trashcan. There was no way she wanted them going into a box.

She barely glanced at the names and estimated time of deaths on the notes as she took them and tossed them away. She was just trying to get rid of them.

It was only by chance, or by prayer, that she managed to spot a familiar name. It was a name she had buried long ago, along with Lucy and Puck and any of her old boyfriends and frenemies that tried to sabotage her while she was on the top of a pyramid formation.

She stared at the name, gripping the note hard between her fingers. “No,” she whispered. “It can’t be.”

 _S. Corcoran_  
1267 Breer St.  
E.T.D. 7:31 P.M.

It was.

 

 

 

 

It wasn’t that Quinn never thought about it happening, she just never thought about it happening while she was still alive. (Partly alive, whatever.) She couldn’t help but think of it happening, whether it was in her dreams (nightmares) or whenever she saw a child crossing the street without anyone holding her hand.

She had to make sure it was a death that happened to her and her only. She had to make sure that if Shelby Corcoran was going to be dead as of now that her child had a good guardian to take care of her.

 _She’s at least nine years old now_ , Quinn thought.

(She had been seven.)

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Quinn had her head down, eyes frighteningly not damp, and sat next to a gravestone. It was a small one to reflect the person lying beneath it.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” Santana said, her boots coming into view. They looked like they had belonged to Tina. Like Santana had dug them out of a box Quinn had closed and then discovered the mess inches away from it that Quinn had left behind in her urgency to find the truth.

“I’m not mad at you,” Quinn whispered. “It’s how it goes. We don’t tell anyone.”

“Do you want me to leave you alone now?” Santana said after standing around for a few minutes.

“No,” Quinn replied steadily. “Stay, please.”

She hugged the gravestone, then slipped off to the side of it and cried. She heaved ugly, broken, loud sobs and didn’t attempt to cover them. Santana wrapped her arms around her to hug her, gently but awkwardly patting her hair with her fingers. They blended together.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“He’s been depressed,” Santana said to Quinn. Quinn visited Santana’s house more often in the aftermath of Tina’s departure. She found being by herself increasingly unsettling, but she still didn’t want to live with people again. It hurt too much.

“He’s new so of course he is,” Quinn muttered. She and Santana sat on the couch in the living room. Kurt was at the Lima Bean, doing his reaper-after job.

“Yeah, I know, but Tina at least talked to us,” Santana said. “Kurt doesn’t say anything. He’s going to turn out like Brad.”

“Let him. Brad’s not unhappy the way he is, you know. It’s just us that feel that way about him.”

“…Yeah, no. Brad’s life sucks.”

“So.” Quinn stood up to get a glass of water. “What do you want me to do about it, fearless leader?”

“I wasn’t asking you to do anything about it,” Santana said, scoffing. “I was just saying.”

“Right.”

“ _Really_.”

Quinn opened a cupboard in the kitchen.

After listening to the sounds of Quinn moving around and glass tinkering, Santana burst into hysterical tears. “Okay, fine, I need your help! I don’t want him to be here if it means no one is talking or breathing but me! I need a living roommate, not some skeletal, toothless kid.”

“You miss Tina,” Quinn said as she sat back down.

“Little bitch.” Santana sniffled. “She’s probably laughing her ass off at us now. Or too busy having sex in heavenly hot tubs with stud angels to worry about us.”

“That’s some picturesque view of heaven you got there.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

They ended up walking to the Lima Bean together after bouncing ideas to get Kurt de-depressed off of each other. Once Santana suggested “find him someone to fuck”, Quinn got up and left. Santana followed her.

“Hey, Kurt,” Santana said, a small tinkling bell ringing as the door swung shut behind them. “Q and I are going to head back to my house to eat something deep-fried. Wanna come?”

Kurt walked out from behind the counter in his Lima Bean apron (with a blue ascot around his neck that was probably not part of the uniform) and made his way towards them. “Don’t call me Kurt here,” he said in a hushed voice. “My name is Melchior.”

“You really need to pick a new name. That’s worse than Patricia.”

“Shut up, Santana.”

Kurt pursed his lips and glanced back at the counter. “I’ll take five. Let’s sit at that table over there.”

Once they sat down (Quinn next to Kurt, Santana on the other side), the bell rang again. A few seconds later, a woman sat down next to Santana, making her give the stranger a “back off bitch” glare.

She just smiled at her. “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting anything—”

“You are,” Santana said, but there was no bite. The woman had a pretty smile, and she seemed non-threatening enough.

“Santana…” Quinn warned. She nodded at the stranger. “Go on.”

“I heard you guys were one man short so I was sent as Blaine Anderson’s replacement from the LA reaper establishment. My name’s Mercedes Jones.”

“Oh, really?” Santana said. “I guess we could use some more help. I hate having to take the souls of more than three people a day. Their tears tire me out.” She and Mercedes shook hands. “I’m Santana, the blonde chick is Quinn, and right across from you is Kurt. He’s new. And frigid.” Quinn gave her a look and was about to yell at her when Mercedes cut her off by offering her hand to Kurt.

“Wow, that’s a gorgeous ascot. McQueen?” Mercedes said, eyeing the ascot around Kurt’s neck. She then looked up at him, her hand still out. “It’s nice to meet you, Kurt.”

Kurt took her hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you too, Mercedes. I love your necklace. It’s very reaper chic.”

“Thank you! I couldn’t resist getting it. The skulls are cute and it was at a bargain price, so.”

Two years later, Santana would regret trying to get Kurt to talk to her.

But for now, they all had coffee together and talked about clothes, hair, and old times. And later, they sat around the old piano and sang a song, and if they were lucky, there was a movie they could watch at Santana and (Brittany’s) (Blaine’s) (Tina’s) Kurt’s house. Kurt seemed like the kind of person to not sleep through it, though, so Santana used an extra packet of popcorn.

(She still hogged it all.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

DATA ENTRY

CAUSE OF DEATH/LAST WORDS/T.D./NAME

 

Manslaughter, stab wound to the right lung. You left me, you asshole. 12:55 P.M. S. Lopez.

 

Fell, brain trauma. Oops. 2:46 P.M. B. Anderson.

 

Self-caused car crash, heavy lacerations to the heart. I just want someone to love me. 3:14 P.M. Q. Fabray.

 

Hit-and-run, multiple fractures to the skull. Thanks. 11:37 A.M. T. Cohen-Chang.

 

Dislocation of shoulder, infection at the hospital. It’s because he smokes. 1:22 P.M. B. Pierce.

 

Mugged, head trauma. Please, God. 8:56 P.M. M. Jones.

 

Car crash, head trauma. Finn, I’m coming to get you. 9:00 P.M. K. Hummel.

 

Fell, snapped spine. Somebody help him. 8:42 P.M. S. Motta.

 

Choked. Yeah, hold up. 8:45 P.M. J. Hart.

 

Hit by car, internal bleeding. Sugar, please pick up. 9:02 P.M. A. Abrams.

 

Died in sleep, unknown cause of death. … 4:23 A.M. B. Ellis.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They did wonder about the people they left behind, but the death they never got over was their own.

Santana couldn’t finish her story no matter how many times she started telling it. (She would often watch old videos of herself and Brittany in her pajamas. She never stopped calling people names. She had to laugh at something or she would go insane. She didn’t.)

Kurt felt hunger, longing, bitterness, and no relief. (He would keep going back to his house and try to communicate with his family and his best friend, Rachel. He would later reap her. There was still a happy ending in sight for him; he just had to work hard to get there.)

Quinn drowned inside her own head. (She would stop wondering what it would feel like to wear a crown and just made one herself out of paper. She and Mercedes spent the rest of the evening making paper cranes and paper airplanes. She stopped wondering how it would feel to open up and let go and just did so.)

Blaine ran and ran. (By the time he reached Canada, he didn’t know what he was running away from anymore. By the time he got back to Ohio, Santana wasn’t there to curse him.)

Brad played the piano. (He sang along once. It was terrible.)

Tina didn’t exist. (She was uplifted.)

But they could sing. And even as they saw people come and go, small figures disappearing into a world that stretched on and on with no end to its existence, they didn’t stop living. (Even though they were dead.)

Because somewhere out there, there was a car heading towards its destination in the midday sun.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Credits: 
> 
> Sleepwalking title from Beat Radio.  
> Lyrics at beginning from Buttoned Down by Straylight Run.  
> The songs they sing are True Colors by Cyndi Lauper and Lullaby for a Stormy Night by Vienna Teng.


End file.
